Walking After Midnight
by SombraAlma
Summary: Kate and Sawyer back at the beach, immediately following the season 3 finale. Epilogue uploaded...story complete.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Walking After Midnight, chapter 1  
Rating: PG-13/T/whatever the hell they're calling a bit of sex and language these days.  
Spoilers: Up to the season 3 finale.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or the characters thereof. I'm just borrowing.  
Summary/AN: Kate/Sawyer, back on the beach, immediately following the finale. The title is from Patsy Cline's song of the same name, and it (and the rating) will be applicable a bit later.

-----

She hangs back when they get to the beach, lets Sun and Rose have their reunions. She presses towards the outside of the crowd, waylaid once in a bear hug from an exuberant Hurley. When Jack starts telling them about Naomi, the phone, the freighter, everyone surrounds him and finally she's alone. She stoops to take her boots off and curls her toes in the sand as she stands up again. Looking. Waiting.

And then she sees him, leaning against the door of the van and downing a beer casually, as if Jack weren't a few yards away with news of a rescue boat. She watches him stare at her, then shakes her head and turns towards the ocean again once it's clear he's not going to move from his spot. Damned nervy, when he's the one who left and said she couldn't come. Not that she'd expected running through fields of daisies with arms outstretched. She almost laughs at that, but she's still mad at him, no matter the motive Jack had suggested for him.

Problem is, she can stay mad at him, but she can't stay away. So she turns again, walking towards the van, feeling his eyes on her the whole time. When she stops a couple feet away from him she looks up, tossing her head a little when her curls fall across her face. To his credit, he doesn't smirk. Yet.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself."

There it is, that damned smirk. Just in his eyes; it hasn't reached his lips yet but she sees it still. She opens her mouth to speak and then his free hand is at the back of her neck, pulling her to him. His mouth is engulfing hers, bruising, and she thinks maybe Jack was right (not that she's thinking of Jack at the moment at all).

He releases her almost as quickly as he'd grabbed her and she takes a half step back, still feeling the imprint of his mouth on hers. She says the first thing that comes to mind. "You taste like beer."

The ghost of a smirk is back, and he takes a long pull of the beer and swallows before stepping forward and kissing her again, this time softer than she thought Sawyer knew how to kiss. His hand is at the small of her back now, thumb rubbing just under her shirt, and she wonders if he knows just what this is doing to her.

Of course he does. This time she's the first to pull away, and when she does she sees that the smirk has made it all the way to the rest of his face. He gives her a small nod. "You still taste like strawberries."


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Walking After Midnight, chapter 2  
Rating: PG-13/T/whatever the hell they're calling a bit of sex and language these days.  
Spoilers: Up to the season 3 finale.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or the characters thereof. I'm just borrowing.  
Summary/AN: Kate/Sawyer, back on the beach, immediately following the finale.

-----

It's dark now. Dark and chilly and clear. The campfires have died down and the beach is mostly deserted, though there is soft talking from many of the tents. Most of the survivors are too excited to sleep, and even the rotation of armed men assigned to guard Ben through the night are in high spirits.

Kate and Sawyer are silent. They've spoken very little since the return to the beach. He won't tell her how exactly Hurley's rescue took place, glosses it over with an embellished, teasing version of seeing the large man bouncing along in the old van, heading straight for their captors. He won't tell her how it was that Tom came to be shot, but she's seen the body of the Other, seen Sawyer's expression when Juliet pulled the tarp over his face.

Likewise, she won't tell him about the radio tower, about Naomi and Locke and Ben. She won't say how it felt to watch Jack come back with a beaten and bloodied Ben, to hear that their plan had gone horribly wrong, that their people had been overtaken and killed. She can't tell him that she had thought she'd come back and have to help dig graves again, too many, and that she still feels guilty for thinking only of him when he hadn't even been named with those dead.

Neither one mentions what she'd briefly brought up in the jungle, that she might be carrying his child. Sometimes Kate thinks she must have imagined that exchange.

So they let their bodies do the talking instead. Laying on her back in his tent, she closes her eyes as she lets him undress her, slowly, his calloused fingers brushing against the skin of her chest, her abdomen, her thighs. Once again, she's never known him to be so gentle, so careful with her. Eyes still closed, she moves her body to accommodate his task, lifting her hips when his hand slips under her to ease her pants and undergarments down her legs.

He sits back on his heels when she's completely naked, pulling his own clothing off and tossing it into a corner of the tent with hers. She opens her eyes then, finding him watching her so intently, with a look she can't read in his eyes, that it scares her. "Sawy--"

The name isn't halfway off her lips before he's lowering himself over her, his hands pinning her arms to the floor of the tent. "Shh, Freckles...I ain't gonna hurt you." Then his body is covering hers and she raises up to meet him, letting out a sigh that's buried in his kiss as flesh meets flesh.

They still barely talk as gentle caresses make their way into fevered, demanding lovemaking, their only sounds skin on skin and hot breath, soft gasps and moans of pleasure mingled with pain. Occasionally she mumbles his name as her teeth graze across his throat, and he growls hers into her hair as he memorizes the scent of her sweat. Once she thinks she hears him utter the word "love," but she can't be sure and she'll never ask.

Afterwards they lay entangled, bodies slick with sweat, her head on his chest where she can feel his heart beating against her cheek. His fingers run through her tangled hair and she winces when he hits a snag; he mutters an absent "sorry" as he uses his other hand to push himself up into a sitting position.

"You didn't have to stop..." She protests quietly, surprising herself, turning on her side to watch him.

He nods, almost to himself, and reaches behind him for a beer can from his stash, popping the tab and taking a long sip, eyes closed.

She snorts softly at that, rolling her eyes a little and laying on the sarcasm. "Ever the gentleman."

"Who said you're a lady?" He returns, opening his eyes again. He looks almost as if he's been interrupted from deep thought, but he gives her a wide grin and holds the can out to her. "Relax, Freckles; never said I ain't sharin'."


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Walking After Midnight, chapter 3  
Rating: PG-13/T/whatever the hell they're calling a bit of sex and language these days.  
Spoilers: Up to the season 3 finale.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or the characters thereof. I'm just borrowing.  
Summary: Kate/Sawyer, back on the beach, immediately following the finale.  
AN: Thanks to all the kind reviewers. I'm not in the habit of responding to reviewers' questions, because I figure it'll either be answered in the story, or if it's not, that's how I've meant it. This is Lost, after all; ambiguity and confusion are the rules of the day. Doesn't mean you have to stop asking; just don't expect me to answer outside of the story text. And unless you're one of those people who reads the last page of a book before the first, why'd you want to know anyway? That said, glad you're enjoying the story so far.

-----

Later, slightly drunk with sex and Sawyer and Dharma beer, Kate takes his hand and unwraps his arm from around her middle. From the way he stirs and mutters incoherently, she can tell he's been sleeping, and she indulges in a halfway-serious "typical man" gripe to herself before slipping out from under the airline blanket he'd covered them with when she'd started to get chilly. She settles his arm back against his body and he snorts a bit and turns over and she's glad for the unintentional privacy.

In the corner of the tent, she extracts her discarded clothing from his and dresses quickly, awkwardly in the small space. It isn't until she's buttoning her long-sleeved shirt over her tank top that she hears him stir again; she looks over her shoulder to see him reaching, eyes still closed, for the space she'd vacated minutes before. She's just crouching to stand up at the entrance to the tent, boots in hand, when he speaks. His voice is thick with sleep and his Southern accent more pronounced than usual. "Whatcha doin', Shortcake?"

"That's not my..." She begins, but then looks at him almost sympathetically, though she makes no move to return to her place beside him. "Old habits--"

"Die hard. I _know_." He sounds irritated now, propping himself up on an elbow. "This one's damned near immortal." A pause as he reaches for his jeans. "Do I really gotta remind you that your tent _ain't_?"

Damn. She really had forgotten, albeit momentarily, that her tent had been one of the ones destroyed in the day's events. Still, she shakes her head, reaching for the makeshift tent flap. "Sawyer..." She lets his name trail off, not knowing what she wants to say, and ducks out of the tent into the night air.

She doesn't expect him to follow her; he never has before. So she's surprised when she hears footsteps behind her as she walks down the beach, away from the survivors' camp. She lets her boots dangle from her hand by their laces, focusing on the feel of cool, damp sand on her feet, grounding her, and she doesn't turn to see if it really is him behind her.

Until, abruptly, his hand closes around her upper arm and she's whipped around to face him, almost running smack into his bare chest. She shakes her arm away and glares, stepping backwards.

"What the hell're you doin', Freckles?"

She turns around again and can feel him following close behind her. "I'm walking."

"Hell, woman, I can see that." She can hear his sarcasm, his frustration, and she can't blame him even as she keeps walking. "You do know you're goin' _away_ from camp."

She doesn't bother to answer the rather obvious question, though she does stop walking to turn towards the ocean, stooping to roll her pant legs up before stepping into the gently lapping surf, digging her toes into the wet sand. Hearing him sigh behind her, she folds her arms in front of her, holding herself almost as if she's cold.

They stand like that for so long, Kate sinking and Sawyer watching, that she's not even sure if he's still there. Finally she hears the soft sounds of clothing shifting and sand moving and she knows without looking that he's sitting down on the beach behind her. A few more minutes pass and then he clears his throat. "This is a new post-coital tradition, Freckles, tryin' to sink your way to China."

"Maybe China's not the other side of the world here," she remarks quietly, so he has to lean forward to hear.

"Cute, Sweetcheeks," he returns sarcastically, and she can hear he's still irritated at her. "But what, you not gonna ask me to join you?"

She pulls one foot out of the sand and kicks across the water, sending a small splash out into the ocean. She watches the ripples subside before speaking again. "Hasn't stopped you yet, James."

He arches an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic use of his given name and stands, moving so he's positioned just behind her, close enough to feel her without touching. "Why'd you leave, _Kate_?"

As he emphasizes her own name, sounding almost hateful, she stiffens and turns, walking back out of the water and onto the beach. Standing. Almost as if waiting for him to follow. He makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat; he's not going to give her the satisfaction that easily.

"I don't know what's going to happen."

"What?" Once again, he has to come closer to hear her, and he still doesn't understand the strange statement. "Hell, Freckles, we ain't known what's gonna happen since the second we landed on this goddamned island. You ain't tellin' me nothin' new."

She shakes her head. "I meant after." She finally looks at him, for the first time since she left his tent. "When we're..." She bites her lip and can't say the word 'home.' "Back."

_Oh._ He almost looks properly chastised, and steps nearer to her, one arm out to draw her close. She stiffens again and turns away, but he's persistent and struggles with her for a few moments before she gives in and leans against him, arms pulled up to her chest as his surround her securely.

Sawyer doesn't do platitudes. He doesn't do nice, and he sure as hell doesn't do glass half full. He stands there, feeling helpless and completely out of his element, until he decides to change gears altogether. Dipping his head so his lips are barely touching her ear, he speaks slowly, his voice drawling, almost seductive. "Guess ya ain't been listenin' to your mix tape much."

"What?" She pulls her head back, looking up at him, forehead crinkled in confusion.

He shrugs, smirking when he sees he's gotten her attention. "Or ya wouldn't've up and left." He tips his head, looking up at the stars, smirk still plainly visible even in the darkness. "How can you just walk away from me, when all I can do is watch you leave..."

"You. Know Phil Collins?"

Knowing he's got her, he gives her a toothy grin. "The 80s..."

Understanding dawns, and she can't help it, her lips tug upwards in an amused half smile. "With the pink clothes."

"Guilty as charged." He sobers at his choice of phrasing and lowers his head so their foreheads touch. "Come back to bed, Freckles."

She considers it, lips pressed together, feeling his warm breath on her face. "Just for tonight." She closes her eyes briefly, then smirks. "If you promise not to sing."


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Walking After Midnight, chapter 4  
Rating: PG-13/T  
Spoilers: Up to the season 3 finale.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or the characters thereof. I'm just borrowing.  
Summary: Kate/Sawyer, back on the beach, immediately following the finale.  
AN: Just a short bit of fluff needed for a transition before the next chapter, really.

-----

She awakens with a start, the late morning sun making the tent almost unbearably hot. Pushing the dark blue blanket away, she frowns when she sits up and doesn't find Sawyer laying beside her. After pulling her pants and tank top on, she pushes the tent flap back and steps, blinking, out onto the beach.

"'Mornin', Freckles."

She startles slightly at the greeting, not having noticed him sitting in his usual reading spot. As he takes his glasses off, twirling them slowly by the stem, she grins a little at him. "More like afternoon, isn't it?"

He glances up at the sky, squinting, then smirks back at her. "Almost."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

His smirk widens, though he doesn't answer her question. "Thought you can't sleep in someone else's tent."

Looking sheepish, she rolls her eyes slightly as she walks away, heading towards the communal kitchen area.

"Hey, Freckles."

She turns, thumbs hooked in her belt loops as she watches him jerk his head casually towards his tent.

"You movin' in?"

-----

A week passes, then two, and as the survivors slowly stop talking about the rescue boat that's sure to come but never does, Kate slowly stops talking about gathering supplies to rebuild her tent. More and more frequently she leaves her bags of belongings in Sawyer's tent rather than taking them with her when she leaves.

He notices, but doesn't say anything, just clears a spot for her things among his own.

She notices, but doesn't say anything, just comes in after picking fruit one afternoon, sees the obviously cleared area, and straddles him. She lets the bag of mangoes and papayas slip off her shoulder and takes his book, tossing it aside.

"Hey!"

"Don't you have the damned thing memorized already?" She gives him a half smirk and lowers her head, meeting his lips in a hard kiss.

His protest silenced, he runs his hands up her back and into her hair, loosening the ponytail there. "Never had much use for memorizin', Freckles." He flips her then, covering her body with his as she pulls his shirt up, grasping at his warm skin.

They don't speak again until they're both spent, catching their breaths as she lays against his chest. His voice holds a tint of amusement and his fingers play across her temple, brushing at stray wisps of hair. "Mind tellin' me what that was for?"

She arches an eyebrow and lifts her head, resting her chin on his chest so she can look up at him. "I need a reason?"

He merely shakes his head and uses his hand to lay her head back down against him. "The primroses were over. Toward the edge of the wood, where the ground became open and sloped down to an old fence and a brambly ditch beyond, only a few fading patches of pale yellow still showed among the dog's mercury and oak-tree roots..."

"Thought you didn't memorize..." She murmurs, glancing at the book, still laying where she'd tossed it when she'd first come in.

He tips his head back, eyes closed, though he keeps his hand at her face, trailing fingers down her cheek, a hint of a smile on his lips. "On the other side of the fence, the upper part of the field was full of rabbit holes..."

-----

AN: The passages Sawyer quotes are the opening lines of _Watership Down_ by Richard Adams.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Walking After Midnight, chapter 5  
Rating: PG-13/T  
Spoilers: Up to the season 3 finale.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or the characters thereof. I'm just borrowing.  
Summary: Kate/Sawyer, back on the beach, immediately following the finale.

-----

They settle into an almost comfortable domestic routine. They eat meals together – Sun smiling at Kate knowingly when they do – they hike to the caves to get water together, they even sometimes trek further to collect fruit together. Kate nags him, mostly good-naturedly, about keeping his side of the tent neat, and when he enters what's become known among the survivors as Kate-n-Sawyer's-tent he's taken to drawling, "Hey, honey, I'm home." Just to hear her laugh.

Some nights, she pretends to listen as he reads long passages from _Watership Down_ to her (Kate is relieved to discover that he's only memorized the first few lines) and he pretends to listen when she tells him he shouldn't read when it's dark; it'll make his eyesight worse. And some nights, there is no pretending, just passion, and they know back in the real world things could never have been so honest, so real, so stripped bare of everything but raw feeling. He kisses her forehead and asks her again if she loves him, and she says he already knows that answer.

But he'd been right, what seems like a lifetime ago: A tiger don't change its stripes.

So there are other nights, and Sawyer can never predict when they'll be, that she runs. She lays awake and eases herself from his embrace, dresses quietly and leaves the tent. She takes long walks on the beach, not returning until dawn, smelling of seawater and sand, hair tangled by the night breeze. Sometimes he thinks he sees tearstains just beneath her eyes, but he can't be sure and doesn't ask. He doesn't follow her, save that first night, and she's glad.

He thinks it, but doesn't say it aloud: A tiger don't change its stripes.

All the domesticity scares her. When she lets herself think of it, that is, and that's exactly what she does the nights she can't sleep. It reminds her too vividly of Kevin. Of marriage and homecooked meals and a cute little house and tickets for a vacation you never get to take and too many lies to someone you love. It reminds her too much of a pregnancy test and peeing on a stick and crying because you never _really_ know what you want the result to be until it _isn't_.

So she walks, though she might as well be running. Up and down the beach until she memorizes its contours, even in the dark. (She thinks Sawyer would have an inappropriately lewd comment about that one.) Sometimes she ventures into the jungle, as far as she feels safe going without light or company. And then other times she spends what seem like hours in the lapping surf, sinking, thinking always about her mother as the waves wash over her feet and bury them in the heavy sand. She wonders if her mother had felt relieved when she'd heard the news about the disappearance of Flight 815 and the passengers on board. Or perhaps the news had come too late, and Diane had died still thinking her daughter was a monster she needed to be protected from.

Diane. Sam. Wayne. It always comes back to Wayne. She curls her toes in the wet sand. Wayne. Who he'd been, who he'd made her to be. What she'd done, and the peace it was supposed to bring her, that she'd fooled herself into thinking she'd experience once he was gone, not a part of her anymore.

_It wasn't because you drove my father away, or the way you looked at me, or because you beat her. It's because I hated that you were a part of me...that I would never be good. That I would never have anything good. And every time that I look at Sawyer...every time I feel something for him...I see you, Wayne. And it makes me sick. _

Kate shakes herself slightly, out of her thoughts. Her feet are cold, and the sky is just beginning to lighten. She steps out of the water and onto the beach, heading slowly back to camp. The beach is deserted, save a lone figure sitting near the water.

As she approaches, she changes course and sits down next to the other occupant of the early-morning beach. She's silent for several long moments, though she can feel a curious gaze on her, before clearing her throat softly and speaking. "I need to know."

The responding voice is calm, even. "Need to know what, Kate?"

"Juliet. Please. I need to know."

-----

AN: Italicized passage is a direct quote/flashback from the show, which if you don't get without reading this note, go watch What Kate Did. Now.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Walking After Midnight, chapter 6  
Rating: PG-13/T  
Spoilers: Up to the season 3 finale.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or the characters thereof. I'm just borrowing.  
Summary: Kate/Sawyer, back on the beach, immediately following the finale.  
AN: Shoutout to dubenkojunkie, who might want to backhand Juliet again. I approve.

-----

Previously, on Lost...

"_Juliet. Please. I need to know."_

-----

Juliet merely nods, which Kate finds more than a little maddening. She bites her lip, looking out at the lightening sea rather than at the woman beside her. "You didn't just come for Sun. You came for me, too. To see if I'm pregnant."

"And you think you are?" Again the calm, even voice.

Kate lets her irritation seep through in her tone. "It's not impossible." Surely Juliet knows this; after all, she'd been the one to inform Kate that their grief-stricken, passionate tryst in the cage had been recorded for all, including Jack, to see. A slight blush tints her cheekbones as she thinks about it, feeling exposed. "You took Sun to that abandoned medical station. You have the equipment...somewhere in there." A deep breath. "Take me. I think I deserve at least that."

The other woman is silent for several long moments, then nods. "All right."

Is that all she can say? Kate pushes herself up to stand, arms folded in front of her as she looks down at the blond woman. "Tonight. Or I'm going alone."

An arched eyebrow. "You won't find what you need there alone."

"Well, then you'd better come with me." She turns on her heel, as well as she can on the sand, and makes her way back to the tent.

He's still sleeping when she ducks inside, and quietly, gently, she lays down with him, tucking herself under his arm, back to his front. He stirs, murmuring her nickname in a voice thick with sleep. Feeling selfish, in need of comfort, she shushes him softly. "Go back to sleep..." She pulls his arm tighter around her, holding on as if to a lifeline.

-----

She spends the day on edge, avoiding Juliet. It actually surprises no one; it's no secret that Kate trusts Juliet just about as much as she trusts the island's resident monster. No one can tell the difference, that today she's actively avoiding the woman, except perhaps the avoidee herself.

Or so she thinks.

Sawyer is in his usual reading spot, brow crinkled as he watches her. His book is open on his lap but he's not reading, his glasses pushed up on his head so he can see across the camp to where she's talking with Claire and Sun. She's playing with her hands a lot, then tying and re-tying her ponytail, and his brow furrows deeper. He's never known her to look so...nervous. Frightened, to be sure. Determined, angry, confused. Scared shitless, he'd even say. But not nervous.

Then he sees her laugh, and though from across the beach he can't tell if it's a genuine expression, he relaxes, shaking his head and muttering to himself. "Women."

Later, he follows her at a distance and stands in the shelter of the trees as she weeds in Sun's garden. He looks for evidence of more nervousness but now she just looks tired as she sighs and looks up, leaving a streak of dirt across her forehead as she wipes her brow. He smirks a little to himself as he's reminded of their work in the Others' camp, the way she'd looked, sweaty and tired but unstoppable in that flimsy dress. He'd had to kiss her then, and his previous worry for her is essentially forgotten as he recalls how she'd tasted, like sweat and dirt and exhaustion and strawberries.

"I can see you, you know."

He jumps when she speaks, the trees and underbrush rustling loudly as he stumbles out into the clearing. "Damn, Freckles, tryin' to give me a heart attack?"

She looks up at him from her kneeling position. "You're the one lurking in the trees."

"Lurkin'? I ain't lurkin'."

A nod. "You're lucky I heard you following me, or I might have had to throw another rock." She looks meaningfully at his knee.

He winces at the memory. "You sure you ain't crazy?"

She arches an eyebrow but doesn't otherwise respond to the question. "So what are you doing here, if you're not lurking? Decide to contribute to society? Pull some weeds?" She smirks, and yanks a hardy-looking weed from the soil with a soft grunt, tossing the offending plant over her shoulder, into the underbrush.

"You puttin' me to work, Sassafrass?"

"I should." She retorts, sitting back on her heels to survey her work. "For as long as you were standing there, I could've had this done in half the time if I'd had help."

He can't help but grin as he watches her, tendrils of hair framing her sweaty face, her tank top clinging suggestively to her body. "Forget the weeds, Freckles." He stoops to kneel next to her, pulling her to him, his breath hot against her cheek. "Don't s'pose you brought that dress back with you..."

"What?" She pulls away, forehead crinkled in confusion.

"Nothin'." He silences her protest with a deep kiss, hand cradling the back of her head as he lays her down.


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Walking After Midnight, chapter 7  
Rating: PG-13/T/whatever the hell they're calling a bit of sex and language these days.  
Spoilers: Up to the season 3 finale.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or the characters thereof. I'm just borrowing.  
Summary/AN: Kate/Sawyer, back on the beach, immediately following the finale.

-----

Juliet is waiting just outside of camp when Kate approaches. The blond woman hands her a torch, illuminating their faces in the darkness. "Ready?"

Thinking it a stupid question, Kate simply nods and gestures in front of her, eager to have this ordeal over and done with. She attempts not to think of the fact that, if she gets a certain answer, this ordeal will be far from over.

After hiking for several minutes in silence, Juliet clears her throat. "If we find you are pregnant, is there any chance you could have conceived off the island?"

Kate looks blandly at her; surely Juliet, with all her extensive files on the survivors, would know this. She thinks of the several months preceding the crash, hiding at Ray's farm, then being in the custody of the Marshall, and she chuckles humorlessly. "Not hardly."

The other woman pauses in her step, looking closely at Kate before continuing on. They pass the rest of the way in silence, save for quiet comments related to the terrain: "This way," or "Here, duck under there," or "Careful, the ground's loose here." Kate pays close attention to their route, her tracking radar acutely tuned. Despite needing to ask for the woman's help, she doesn't trust Juliet at all and wonders not for the first time if this has all been a mistake.

"Here we are." Kate recognizes the place as Juliet moves forward to uncover the hatch for the old medical station. As they step inside, they both blink in the flickering light of the station, until Juliet walks ahead to throw the breaker, turning on all the lights.

Kate recalls being frightened the first time she'd been here, but this time she's even more so. The combined sterility and abandonment of the facility lends an almost ominous atmosphere to the long, white hallways. As Juliet leads her into a familiar room lined with lockers, she frowns. "I was here; there's nothing -"

Her protest halts abruptly as Juliet opens one of the lockers to reveal a lever. Juliet pulls it down, then motions for Kate to help her push the lockers away from the hidden doorway. Kate hangs back as she looks inside what appears to be a baby's nursery. "What...what is this?"

The other woman turns, and Kate almost thinks she sees an expression of pain flit across the woman's face. "This is where they died." Juliet's expression changes just as quickly to one of sympathy. "Come in, Kate. It's okay."

She steps into the room, watching as Juliet opens a cupboard and takes out a package, handing it to Kate. The Dharma logo and the words Home Pregnancy Test are emblazoned across the packaging. Kate looks at Juliet in disbelief. "I came all this way to pee on a damned stick?"

"Did you have another idea?" Juliet returns, holding Kate's gaze steadily for a few moments before nodding to a door at the other end of the room. "There's a bathroom there; have you taken one of these before?"

Kate is already walking towards the door.

-----

When she comes out of the bathroom, Juliet is washing her hands at the sink. Kate sets the test on the counter in front of the other woman, attempting humor though she feels anything but. "You know, of all the possible ways to die, I have to say this one never crossed my mind."

Juliet looks at the test, then at Kate, and Kate almost imagines her expression is one of genuine sorrow. "I'm sorry, Kate."

"Yeah, well." Kate purses her lips and looks away, avoiding Juliet and the crib and baby toys in the room. She's determined not to break down, not now, not in front of _her_.

"Why don't you lay down; I'll do an ultrasound and we can see how far along you are." Her voice is gentle and Kate can feel tears burning at the back of her eyelids.

"Does it matter?"

A long pause. Then, "I think it does." Juliet comes closer, into Kate's line of vision. "Kate, most women make it into the middle of their second trimester. You could know..."

"When I'm going to die. Tempting, but..." Kate's actions contradict her words as she walks to the table and lays back, looking up at the ceiling and pursing her lips as she lifts her shirt slightly to expose her abdomen.

Juliet approaches the table and warms a tube of gel between her hands before squirting some on Kate's exposed skin. Kate draws in a small breath as the cold substance hits her, causing Juliet to murmur a quiet apology as she reaches to switch on the ultrasound machine. "You're sure?"

Still staring up at the ceiling, Kate clenches her jaw and mentally counts to five, her lips moving to shape the numbers before speaking aloud. "Do I look sure?"

The blond woman nods briefly, picking up the wand and applying it to Kate's stomach. After a few moments, a whooshing sound fills the room, and Kate lets out an involuntary sound as reality hits her. Juliet taps the monitor lightly. "There's your baby...Do you want to see?"

Her first instinct is to say no, there is no baby, she doesn't want to look at something that's going to kill her. But then her eyes are drawn to the monitor and as she sees the indistinct form on the screen she has to reach up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. She sniffs as Juliet points out the heartbeat, assuring her that it's strong and healthy. "How...how long?"

Juliet hands her a towel to wipe the gel from her abdomen. "I'd say you're about eight weeks along." She switches off the monitor. "I'm sorry, Kate...I'm so sorry. I'll do everything I can to help. I promise."

Kate tosses the soiled towel onto the nearby counter and pulls her shirt back down, swinging her legs over the side of the table and standing up. "If you tell anyone about this..." She fixes Juliet with a hard look, attempting to look deadly serious despite her tears. "I mean _anyone_..." She lets the sentence trail off but it's obvious this is no idle threat.

"Of course." The other woman nods, her expression sorrowful, as if she'd been the one just handed a death sentence. "They're going to find out sooner or later, but of course it's your place to tell them."

Letting out a long breath, Kate nods and wipes at her eyes once more before nodding to the hidden door they'd used to enter the room. "I'm getting out of here." She ignores Juliet's protests and hurries out of the room, down the sterile hallways to the outer door. She uses her shoulder to push the heavy door open and stumbles outside, taking big gulps of heavy, humid jungle air.


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Walking After Midnight, chapter 8  
Rating: PG-13/T  
Spoilers: Up to the season 3 finale.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or the characters thereof. I'm just borrowing.  
Summary: Kate/Sawyer, back on the beach, immediately following the finale.  
AN: Italicized portions are flashbacks/quotes from the show.

-----

She hears the hatch door open and close behind her, feels the other woman's presence. Hands on her knees, she's gasping as if she's just run a race. Juliet waits until she's caught her breath to speak, holding out one of the torches they'd brought, lit again. "You'll need this..."

Kate takes the proffered torch, wipes her brow before stepping out into the jungle, traveling quickly, not as carefully on her feet as when they'd come. She stumbles but catches herself, cursing under her breath.

"Kate, wait!" She hears Juliet hurrying behind her, and only walks faster. The blond woman grabs her free arm, twisting her around to face her. "Kate. I'm sorry. I'll do everything I can."

She yanks her arm from the other woman's grasp. "And what is it exactly that you can do, Juliet?" Her voice is sarcastic, biting. "Make it easier? Put me out of my misery sooner? Because I seem to recall you saying you couldn't do much to help your other patients."

Juliet closes her eyes, visibly pained. When she opens them, she holds Kate's gaze steadily. "We were getting closer. To answers, to something that would help. I will do everything in my power, Kate. For you, for Sun."

It doesn't ring true to Kate, and even if it had she wouldn't let herself believe it; she shakes her head, turning back towards the beach again. "Never thought I'd say this, but I think I prefer Jack's doomsday bedside manner to this false hope crap." She walks slower, but with no less purpose, not looking back to see if she's being followed.

-----

She sits cross-legged in the darkened tent, watching him. She studies his features in the dim light, lines and angles of his face that she's come to memorize by touch, the long shock of hair that falls across his forehead as he sleeps, that she has to clench her fist to quell the urge to brush back. His broad shoulders, muscled arms that hold her so possessively, when she lets them. It's impossible to see in the darkness, but her eyes automatically fall to his left shoulder, to the scar she knows is there, and she shudders slightly, remembering.

_I hated that you were a part of me...that I would never be good. That I would never have anything good. And every time that I look at Sawyer...every time I feel something for him...I see you, Wayne. And it makes me sick. _

He's a part of her now. The thought comes, unbidden. She has a part of him inside of her, and she wonders how she can ever look at him without thinking that again. No longer is he merely a boyfriend, a partner, a lover. He's a part of her. She purses her lips, tears threatening again, as she wonders if now, Wayne will taint him, too.

She covers her eyes with her palm as she imagines their child, grown, saying it to them. _I hated that you were a part of me...that I would never be good._ She would deserve it. Would he?

When she realizes she's imagining something that is essentially an impossibility, she swipes at her eyes, almost angrily. Quietly, she takes off her boots and lays down, sighing as she feels his arm automatically encircle her. When his palm flattens against her abdomen to pull her closer, she stiffens and turns, so he can't touch her there. Not there.

-----

Later, when the sun is shining and they've woken up and Sawyer hasn't asked where she was last night (he usually doesn't; after all, there are only so many places a person can go at night on a not-so-deserted island), she sees him. She's coming back from a walk along the beach with Claire, who keeps insisting that she doesn't need everyone to keep looking after her like she's a widow, but who never turns down an offer of a walk with Kate. Kate suspects it's because she doesn't expect Claire to talk – about Charlie, about Aaron, about anything else that everyone thinks she should be talking about.

Suddenly, as they walk back into camp, Claire lets out a light chuckle. Kate looks up, surprised, and follows the young woman's gaze to Sawyer's airline seat just outside their tent. There the Southerner sits, looking quite perplexed as the baby in his lap attempts to grab the glasses off his face. As they get closer, Kate can hear him speaking, sounding at the same time irritated and amused. "Kid, stop. You take my glasses, I can't finish readin' 'bout..." He glances at the magazine he's holding, "Top 10 Ways To Wow Her In Bed. Gonna be useful in fifteen or so years, if we ever get off this damned rock, so ya might wanna listen."

Claire gasps a little, as if scandalized by what he's reading to her son, but then she giggles again as Sawyer gives up, tossing the magazine to the sand and letting the baby palm the glasses. "You know, sometimes he's almost...sweet. Isn't he?" She looks at Kate then, expression full of quick apology. "I didn't mean...I mean, I'm sure he's..." She trails off, not quite ready to admit that the crass, sarcastic conman actually isn't so bad.

Kate does laugh aloud then, at Claire's obvious discomfort and confusion. "Don't worry about it. I know."

Her laughter causes Sawyer to look up, a sheepish expression on his face at being caught with the baby. He stands up, shuffling over to the women, holding Aaron awkwardly. "Kid started cryin'...He don't like all that Korean mumbo-jumbo with Crouching Tiger and Hidden Dragon over there." A rough jab of his chin in the direction of the Kwons' tent.

"Ah...thanks, Sawyer." Claire looks almost as perplexed as Sawyer as she takes the baby from him, extracting the glasses from the little boy's grasp and handing them back.

He makes a face at the drool now covering his glasses, holding the offending articles gingerly between his thumb and forefinger. "Yeah. Sure, Mamacita." He pats Aaron on the head awkwardly then draws his hand back quickly, grumbling almost to himself as he turns back towards the tent. "Gotta go wash the damned things now..."

As Claire, too, walks away, Kate's eyes are on Sawyer. He'd never admit it, but she knows he's come to not mind, and even become fond of, the youngest member of their community. And unbidden, the thoughts come again. What if Juliet was right, what if they were close to something that could help, something that could save her, save the baby? As quickly as that thought, comes the next: Sawyer, a father. Herself, a mother. She tries to picture it, but can't. All she can see in her mind's eye is Kevin's house, the pregnancy test, knowing she'd taken it too far, much too far, this time.

_It's not a joke. I almost had a baby, Kev. Me, a baby. I can't do this. Taco night. I don't do taco night._

She'd been right then, and she knows it's still true now. She doesn't do taco night. She doesn't do babies. She doesn't even do domestic, though she's been pretending she can. And him? Sawyer? She knows he's already given her his answer.

_You know, they sent Juliet to check out Sun, but she was there to check and see if I'm pregnant too._

_Well, let's hope you're not._

Let's hope you're not. If only. She wants to cry.

Tigers don't change their stripes.


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Walking After Midnight, chapter 9  
Rating: PG-13/T  
Spoilers: Up to the season 3 finale.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or the characters thereof. I'm just borrowing.  
Summary: Kate/Sawyer, back on the beach, immediately following the finale.  
AN: This is technically the last chapter. There is an epilogue already written, though.

-----

Juliet doesn't seem surprised to see Kate at the door of her tent several days later. She gives her a half smile, that eternally calm demeanor, and Kate wants to reach down and wipe what she perceives to be a self-satisfied smirk right off the blond woman's face.

"Kate. How are you feeling?"

She ignores the question, taking a furtive glance over her shoulder before stepping fully into the tent, letting the flap close behind her. "I need you to do something for me." She holds the other woman's gaze steadily, though inside she feels anything but.

Juliet tips her head, studying Kate's expression. "I already told you, I'll do everything I can. I meant that."

"No." She shakes her head. "You can fix this."

"Kate, what are you--"

"You know what I mean."

-----

She sits, cross-legged in front of Juliet. A silent battle of wills. They haven't spoken in what is probably only a few minutes, but what seems like hours.

It's Juliet who breaks the silence. "I'm not that kind of doctor."

"What kind of doctor are you, then?" Kate snaps, steadying her trembling hands in her lap. "You help women. _Pregnant_ women. You _are_ that kind of doctor."

"There are risks--"

She laughs, a short, ugly sound. "Risks? The alternative is me dying, Juliet. I'd say that's a pretty goddamned big risk."

"And I said--"

"You said you were _closer _to something that would help. Not there." She cuts the other woman off again. "I will not..." She looks away, up at a slit in the tarp where she can see the night sky, composing herself. "I will not. Be. A fucking experiment."

Juliet is silent again; Kate can see her wavering. She softens her tone slightly. "Even if you're...right. Even if you can do something...It doesn't matter." She looks away again, the gun she'd taken from a sleeping Sawyer pressing uncomfortably into the small of her back. "Your...people. You had files on all of us. You know that even if we get off this island, I'm not rescued. I'm going to jail. You know that." Her eyes dare Juliet to protest. "_Please._"

-----

Once again, they're walking, silently, to the medical station. They're not far from the beach when Juliet speaks. "We should bring Jack."

"No." Kate reaches behind her, fingers the gun. Just in case. "No one knows. No one _will_ know."

"He's a surgeon. He could--"

"No." She grasps the other woman's arm, twisting it painfully. "Have you done this before?"

Juliet looks away, struggling to get her arm free. "Kate..."

"_Have you?_"

"Yes."

She drops her arm and nods. "Okay. Let's keep going."

-----

Juliet is washing her hands as Kate gets up onto the table, shivering at the cold metal against her bare legs. She folds her discarded jeans almost meticulously, smoothing out wrinkles with her palm, and sets the garment on the counter, gun on top of the faded fabric.

The weapon doesn't escape the doctor's gaze and she meets Kate's eyes, questioning. Kate gives a small shrug, a quiet laugh that doesn't reach her eyes. "Power of persuasion."

The blond woman nods as if she's not surprised, and goes back to preparing her instruments.

Kate can't watch. She studies the ceiling instead.

"Are you ready?"

_No._ "Yeah. Ready."

-----

She thought she'd prepared herself, mentally, for the pain, but soon finds that this is nothing you prepare yourself for. She hears nothing of Juliet's calm, soothing voice throughout the procedure, hears only the instruments, feels them inside of her.

She says his name once, then bites down on her lip hard enough that she tastes blood. Eyes squeezed shut, she can't stop the images that come to her, swirling in on the pain that she can't quite tell is physical or not, a heady parade of memories. Wayne's hand encircling her arm. _You're beautiful._ The smell of gasoline and flames as she rides away from him, from her nothing good. Sam. _Goodbye, Daddy._ Diane. _You can't help who you love._ Her mother in the hospital, screaming for help, to be saved from her monster of a daughter. Tom. Oh, Tom. Dying to save her. The crash. Fear and pain. Stitching Jack up. Jack. He loves her. Sawyer. _Sawyer._ Screaming to save him. _I love him!_ If only he knew what happens to those she loves. _Hey, Freckles. You movin' in? _Sawyer...

Then Juliet is wiping her brow and offering her a bottle of water and telling her to not sit up yet, just rest. And while she can still feel the pain at least nothing metal is inside of her anymore and she does as she's told.

"You did well. Everything looks good...You did just fine, Kate."

She nods and watches as Juliet moves quietly around the sterile room, cleaning up.

"Are you in any pain?"

Kate almost manages a smile at that. "I'll live." Literally. "Thank you."

Juliet lifts her head to look at her, and for the first time Kate notices the deep sadness in the other woman's eyes. A single nod. "You're welcome."

-----

Juliet makes her stay at the medical station for a day, so when they finally return to the beach, Kate can tell Sawyer's been worried. She gives a lame excuse for her disappearance, one that's just plausible enough for him not to believe. When she produces his gun from under her waistband he gets angry and she eggs him on, goading him until she gets what she wants. Or needs; she doesn't know the difference anymore.

"Git! Just take yer things and git!"

She does.

As she's walking away, she can still hear him muttering angrily, and she's glad when it starts raining, so she can cry without being found out.


	10. Epilogue

Walking After Midnight.

Epilogue.

(AN: This was written quite a while ago, after the third or fourth chapter. I wasn't sure if I'd ever use it as part of this story, if it'd end up being a standalone, or if it'd be one of those things that just sits on your hard drive and in your brain collecting dust. Well, it turns out I'm using it as a part of this story, after all. So here it is. The epilogue. Tying some things up, leaving some wide open...And that's it. Enjoy.)

-----

Dusk.

She's sitting on the sand, sweatshirt on, hood up. Seems she's always cold lately. She can barely see the outline of the toy plane in the dying light.

Someone sits beside her. They haven't talked, haven't touched, in two weeks, but she still doesn't need to look to know it's him.

"What's that?"

She closes her fist around the plane and lowers it to the sand. Suddenly it seems silly to her that he, of all people, doesn't know the significance of the small toy she always keeps in her pocket. Still, some things are better left unsaid.

He shrugs, as if unconcerned, and his hand comes into her line of vision. Palm open, small bottle of Oceanic liquor chest vodka resting there.

She looks at him then; he has another bottle in his other hand. He raises his eyebrows as if he expects her to take the proffered one.

"Where'd you get those? I thought--"

"Been savin' 'em for a special occasion." A shrug. "Seems we're hard up fer those lately."

She guesses she shouldn't be surprised. He's always held something back for himself. She takes the bottle, twists off the cap, and remembers. _I never._

"I've never been pregnant."

It takes him a few moments to realize what she's doing, then his lips twitch, just slightly. "Gonna take a long time to get me drunk if you're playin' that way, Sassafrass."

The use of the nickname almost makes her falter, but she holds his gaze steadily. Unblinking. Lifts the bottle to her lips and takes a tiny sip. A small, humorless quirk of her lips; she knows he remembers. "Didn't last very long." There's a sharp, fresh pain as she says the words, and she imagines he can see it on her face.

His eyes widen just slightly and he looks away, out to sea. Then, quietly, almost a growl: "I never had a daughter."

She flinches, waits, holds her breath. He keeps his eyes trained on some spot far out in the ocean and raises the bottle to his lips and drinks.

-----

She doesn't know how long they've sat there, not talking, not drinking. The light is no longer dying; it's dead, and she only knows he's still beside her because she can still hear him breathing. Slowly she unwraps her fist from around the toy plane. Reaches for him, finds his hand and places the small object in his palm. "It belonged to a man I loved."

He can see her, in his mind's eye, drinking for _I never been in love_. He closes his fingers around the plane, gently.

"...The man I killed."

His hand stills; he turns his head to look in her direction, though he can barely make her out in the darkness. He uses his fingers to brush away the sand he can feel on the toy, then presses it back into her palm. "What was his name?"

"Tom." She slips the plane back into her pocket, knowing she's played her last hand. He knows now what she's capable of._ A man I loved._

Silence again. She wonders how long they can keep this up, the gaping voids between their conversations. The fires down the beach are slowly dying out, reminders that they're not alone on the island.

"I killed Sawyer."

She's not sure she's heard him correctly. "What?"

"Sawyer. I killed him." Yes, that's what she'd heard. "He ripped up the letter and then I put a chain around his neck and I killed him."

The cold desperation in his voice frightens her, and she wonders if he remembers her speaking of Wayne in the same manner. Probably not; he'd been delirious, fevered. She doesn't ask why; she knows why. She doesn't ask how; she knows there is no answer to that question. Instead she reaches for his hand, holding it tightly. She takes a long sip from her bottle, and hears him do the same.

"When..._if_ we're rescued, I'm going to jail."

His hand tightens around hers. "Hell, me too, Freckles."

"Or, James...we could run."

-----

From down the beach, there's a shout. "Port! Starboard!" in Jin's unmistakable accent.

An answering yell. Someone else thinks they see the lights of a boat, too.

He wraps his arms around her and they lay down in the sand to wait.

-----

_fin_


End file.
